


At last we find each other

by Thorpe



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, M/M, it took million months to write, they're like those ships passing in the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorpe/pseuds/Thorpe
Summary: In fairytales, if two people are meant to be together, their paths will cross eventually. That’s how fate works.But life is not a fairytale.Or five times Brooke and Vanjie didn't meet, and one time they did.
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21





	At last we find each other

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to post this on my first fic's anniversary, but I was born me, so of course I'm late.  
> A big thank you to one and only Artificialmeggie for betaing, and all the love to Pinkgrapefruit, TheArtificialDane, and my darling Eliza for their brain cells when I was dumb.
> 
> As always, I don't own anything but my imagination. Enjoy! xx

In fairytales, if two people are meant to be together, their paths will cross eventually. That’s how fate works. 

But life is not a fairytale.

1.

They were at yet another pageant. Vanjie still couldn’t believe how many of them could be organized in the span of a single month - all mixing into one feast of colours, sequins, and foundation too orange to match anyone’s skin tone. They used to be busy before, but with Alexis’s career taking off, “busy” was an understatement. It was only for the good, though. More bookings meant better money and people catching interest in him as well - two things no young queen would complain about. He was enjoying a brief moment of a break before they had to get ready for their performance, all the hustle and bustle of the contest beginning to wear his ever-so-cheerful persona off.

The talent show segment had just begun and Alexis was going in as one of the last girls. Good - they’ll end it with a bang. Vanessa felt a rush of excitement just at the thought of what they had prepared, jumps and twirls and drops he was ready to slay. He was backstage of the venue, peeking through the slit between the glittering silver of the curtains from where he was leaning on the wall. It was hotter than concrete probably should be, but then again - with strong lights everywhere, poor air conditioning, and pressure so high it was clawing at the ceiling - everything there was too hot for comfort. He didn’t have the time to get a good look at the other contestants since their arrival - there were way too many of them, and he was hungry, so once he clapped and whooped as his drag mother charmed the jury, he went on to look for the buffet. Judging from what he could see now, he hadn’t lost much. The curvy redhead on the stage did have some good moves, Vanjie had to admit that, but watching her struggle with her wig constantly getting tangled up in the embroidered material of her sleeves was far more entertaining than the performance itself. Yeah, Alexis had this title sewn up, whichever it was. He chuckled under his breath. Almost on cue, one of the other back-up dancers came looking for him, gesturing to follow her.

“Alexis wants us to go through the routine once more,” she said over the high pitched voice of the host announcing another contestant, her expression reflecting the exasperation Vanessa felt. He rolled his eyes.

“Hoe’s crazy, she a drag queen or cardio instructor? Hope ya have that mug all set, I tell you that! Mama gon’ whoop your ass if you get on that stage looking busted.” Cackling louder than he should, he uncrossed his arms and used them to push himself off the wall to stand straight. As he was following her down the corridor, he heard the audience cheer louder and more enthusiastically than before. Curious, he tried to look back, but was already too far to see a tall blonde entering the stage in pointe shoes, so he simply shrugged and rushed to keep up with his companion.

2.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Brooke sounded more than skeptical, brows furrowed, as he took in the sight of his friend. Steve was sitting on the bathroom floor - body sluggish against the wall and face the shade of pale that borders on greenish.

“Yeah, must have eaten something off. You and your damn seafood,” he mumbled, probably aiming for a querulous tone, but coming off tired at best, his eyes closed and temple resting on the cool tiles.

“Oh, hold on, bitch, don’t blame me. It was you who came up with the idea!” His mocked offence was soon alleviated by gentle hand coming to rub one of the sickly looking man’s shoulders as he crouched next to him. “You want me to get you anything? Water or something?”

A small ’Water would be nice’ was directed towards his back, as he got up not waiting for the answer, determined to come up with something that would help his friend. He frowned at how weak it sounded and tried to remember some the home remedies his mum used to prepare. Citrus, maybe, or was it for cold? Muttering to himself, he looked at the cabinets with puzzled expression, trying to figure out where the glasses could be. He found them on his first try, realizing Steve’s Chicago apartment was organized just like his old one back in Toronto. He smiled at the memories of all the evenings they spent there, only to wake up in a state similar to Steve’s present one on the next morning.

“I didn’t find anything with ginger, but this will do.” Coming back to his friend’s misery den, he used his chin to point at a mug of chamomile tea he was carrying on a small tray. “And water with lemon, it should help… I think.”

“Won’t be worse than it is now, eh?” Steve lifted the corner of his lips in a crooked, but warm smile. Brooke let out a little laugh and sat by his side, carefully placing the tray on the floor within arm’s reach. “Don’t get all comfortable here, you better start getting ready if we want to make it to the show.”

“Actually, I thought we’d pass on Roscoe’s tonight, you know? You’re not quite killing it on the dance floor right now.” Canadian queen bumped shoulders with the shorter man, raising an eyebrow at him with a smirk when he huffed.

“With a little help of my lovely nurse Hytes here, I’ll be back in shape in no time.” Not bothering with a response, he just glared at the still awfully pale face. “Don’t look at me like that, Brock. You didn’t come all this way to sit in my bathroom. We’re going out.”

“Listen up, bitch. What I came all this way for was to see my best friend. If I cared about clubs I might have just as well stayed in Nashville.” Both his voice and eyes were unusually stern, warning against raising any protest. Soon his face softened as he placed a hand on top of the other man’s one and squeezed it. “I’ve missed you. And if freezing my ass out on those hideous tiles means spending time with you, you can bet I’m down for it.”

“You really are the best, B, you know that?” Steve turned his palm around and squeezed Brooke’s in return, looking up at his friend.

“I do,” the blonde followed back quickly, sly smile widening to an amused grin as the bearded man shoved him playfully. They both leaned back in comfortable silence, Steve sipping his tea, and their hands still interlocked loosely. After a bit, Brooke remembered something. “Who’s performing tonight, anyway?”

“Uhm, some of the local girls, regulars mostly. But there’s someone new, from Florida, I think. Heard she’s a great dancer, really turning it out.” Steve noticed his friend’s sparking interest at his words. “You’re sure you wanna miss out on that?”

“Positive. If she’s really that good I’ll probably get to see her somewhere else, too.” Brooke nodded before helping himself up. “Now, I wasn’t joking about freezing out. We’re either moving to the couch, or I’m building a pillow fort here, you decide.”

3.

The bouncing of his own leg started to annoy him, but it’s not like he had much else to do. For what felt like the millionth time, and probably was pretty close to that in reality, Vanessa let his eyes wander over the departures hall of the Tampa Airport. Children playing tag - or another game that required running around the two huge metal flower pots and screaming like little banshees - on his right, an older woman lifting her crossword to the harsh white lighting and squinting her eyes behind big glasses before writing in another answer, black plastic of the three empty seats, a teenager in headphones tapping to the rhythm on the handrail, young, dog-tired couple with a baby - or just a bundle of blankets from his perspective, a blonde dozing off with her head on another girl’s lap, and a row of windows on the left. He studied the dirt in the corners of the frames and the pattern on the hackneyed green carpet, not even hoping to notice something new, having spent almost two hours on memorizing every spot and abrasion. Slowly, he transferred his gaze to one of the screens, his usual Duracell Bunny attitude long worn out, to once again discover that nothing had changed. Father rocking the baby in his arms, young boy’s fingers twitching to the slightly faster tempo, another crossword solved, and the same red letters arranged into the word ‘DELAYED’ next to the number of his flight.

The Puerto Rican squirmed in his place - another futile attempt to make himself more comfortable - thinking on a way to convince RuPaul to speed up the season premiere. He needed big gigs with bigger tips to start coming, so that he could pay for the VIP lounge and not deal with those cheap-ass plastic fuckers anymore. Did she have a dog? Or a cat? Maybe he could kidnap it and demand the tapes as a ransom, smuggle it into his bag or something. The sudden scratching of the loudspeakers interrupted his inner contemplation of whether Riley would take to their potential hostage. The voice of a bored woman didn’t sound sorry at all as it was _sincerely apologizing for the inconvenience_ (inconvenience his ass, it was a hell of fucking disaster) and _regretfully informing that the delayed flight to Nashville was canceled_. Just like that, Vanjie was back at 10, jumping from his seat, ready to throw hands at the first airport worker he saw. He had to settle for muttering curses in two languages, as complaints and grunts took up all the air in the hall. He unlocked his phone and angrily tapped on one of the contacts.

“Miss Vanjie.” He rolled his eyes at the greeting Kameron chose, exasperation fading slightly. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane right now?”

“Child, don’t even tell me.” There it was, anger back to its full form. “Been here for hours, waiting for my gate to be announced, all patient and shit, and now they go sayin’ the bitch won’t fly!”

“Wait, what? Nah, girl, you have to be here!” The Nashville queen whined. They wrapped up filming not even two weeks earlier, but all of the season 10 girls already wanted to meet up, and Kameron’s belated birthday party was a perfect occasion for them to catch up and try to get all of the details out of the top four.

“Lemme go find that plane, Imma go there like ‘Hey, Captain Mateo’s on board, where we flyin’?’ Or ain’t it a pilot? Pilot Vanessa ready to take over!” He heard cackling on the other side and felt himself smile a little as well. With a sigh, the tanned man sat down and started playing with loose threads at the hem of his shorts. “I’m sorry Kammy, it cancelled. Won’t make it”

“No way. When’s the next flight?” Bodybuilder Barbie insisted, but seemed a bit distracted, and he could hear some muffled voices coming from the other side.

“Tomorrow. No connecting flights or whatever.” The way regret sounded in his voice brought back the still bitter memory of his elimination, making him feel even worse. Maybe it was better if he harassed Ru into not airing the season at all? “Can’t do that, gotta be home in the evening, ya know she’s a werkin’ woman, baby.”

“Ow, such a shame, we’ve…” Kameron trailed off and he could hear her talking to someone else. “Sorry, Brooke’s helping me set everything here. I haven’t even unpacked all of my stuff yet, she’s a lifesaver.”

“Who dat?” The name sounded familiar, woke up some faint memories of a crowd cheering and anger boiling behind Alexis’s practiced smile as she waved in a runner-up sash. He recalled green eyes catching him staring in the changing room, but he wasn’t sure - maybe it was someone else.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. You’ve never met her?” Kam was genuinely surprised. “Girl, you’d love her. I bet you’d hit it off- What? Shit, no, I forgot. Uh, sorry, Vanj, I have to go. Talk to you soon, girl!”

“Sure. You guys have fun.” His friend hung up with a final goodbye, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to remember which one of those identical counters he was supposed to go to to get a refund on his ticket. Stepping in the direction of a long queue he noticed a familiar old lady standing in, he tried to shake off the pressing feeling of missing out on something important.

4.

He didn’t act on impulse, he didn’t. He planned his every move and word and decision, instinct to always strive for precision etched into lean body with tired muscles, judging eyes of strict choreographers, and ribbons tightly wrapped around his ankles. Impulsiveness was uncertain ground, and expectations growing heavier with every title and crown needed a solid foundation. And yet, there he was - comfortably seated against his headboard with Apollo curled next to him, hitting the blue icon and opening an empty conversation against his better judgment, not allowing doubts and what ifs to change his mind. The last notes of “To the Moon” still played in the background as his fingers started typing.

Watching past seasons, realistically he had known he wouldn’t make it in the casting because of the green card, but seeing all of the queens that got in - he couldn’t help looking for other reasons that wouldn’t get him through, every single thing they had and he didn’t. Maybe it was the fact he finally got the call himself, his life becoming a frenzy of alterations and toning Courtney’s excitement down, or that he kind of knew Vanessa - saw him performing, stood dumbstruck with eyes struggling to follow impossibly quick movements, relishing in the energy and pure joy his small body radiated - and knew how much more he had to offer, but this time, instead of spotting differences, he found a connection.

‘I don’t wanna get emotional with a lot of people,’ the Latino man had said, unwilling to let his resolve crumble for everyone to witness, but breaking down in a lonely corner with Eureka, and the Canadian felt his heart fall a little with bitter wave of understanding. He listened to the crushed voice talking about his fears of letting his family down, disappointing his mum - fears Brooke Lynn knew all too well; saw him holding a silver statuette and winced at the image of himself being in the exact same position in a couple of months - clutching the cold metal like it could prevent his dreams from shattering down on the floor, dreading the thought of all the sets of eyes trained to the screen at Play Nashville.

But, obviously, he couldn’t have written that, so he set for a short and nice message showing his support, nothing too personal or potentially embarrassing. They didn’t know each other that well and, actually, maybe even reaching out to him after his elimination in the first place would come off as overstepping. After all, it must have been close to a year - Vanjie had surely gotten over it months earlier. For a second his finger hovered over the little arrow, weighing the arguments for and against, but he hastily sent the message before he got to think on it too much. _I probably won’t see him anytime soon, anyway,_ he reassured himself with a deep breath, but once in a while glanced to check if the message was received, imagining short fingers sliding over the screen and plump lips curling in the corners.

Two months later, when his apartment looked more like a Samsonite shop than his usually organized space, he set up three alarms to make sure he got up in time to get to the airport and hesitantly opened his Messenger app, scrolling down to one particular conversation.

After checking if the alarms were turned on, he rolled over. And if his smile was a little sad, it was too dark to tell.

5.

DragCon was fun. He was having fun, it was great. He had his booth dripping with flowers, his silhouette snatched, pink and sparkling - all Barbie fantasy that would not get knocked out the first episode, if he could have gotten his hot glue gun on Cazias’s level (or himself on the sewing machine’s level). There was a line of people who came to support him, waiting to take a photo, gagging on his merch and his lovely mama selling it, and he couldn’t have been more grateful. Even if it all was a bit tiring. 

“Hi, gorgeous. Look at that, you look great. Come on, do a twirl. Yes!” He laughed and clapped as a short girl made a turn, long, black braid attached to her hat spinning with her. He pointed at the pentagram sewn on the hat’s brim. “What’s that? You some witch? Mary, if ya lookin’ for Boulets, try again. Ain’t no bobbidi-boo here.”

“I’m in a some sort of a coven, yeah,” she laughed. How excited she seemed didn’t fit with her edgy look - all back and revealing, a crop top with a logo Vanessa didn’t recognize - but it matched her sweet voice and bright smile perfectly. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m here. I’m running to the show, but I saw your booth and just had to stop by. You’re amazing.”

“You so sweet, thank you. Let’s get a photo. A nice, pretty photo with that mug of yours.” He led her to the pink wall and posed. As the girl got her phone back from the photographer and checked the time, she suddenly started gathering her bags in hurry and apologized, adorably rambling about the fashion show she was heading to. Vanjie didn’t catch most of it, just that her friend, B-something, was walking in it, but he cackled regardless, amused with the girl’s babbling, before going to give her a usual hug goodbye. “Say hello to that model friend from me, won’t ya? Bye! Have fun!”

Soon the commotion started to die out a bit, and as he could see the end of the queue approaching, he couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved. His fans always hyped him up, but after hours of feeling the tape pull, laces squeeze, and bottoms of his feet prick from standing in heels, he’d have taken every break he could get.

“Vanjie! Can we talk with you for a second?” Vanessa sighed at the sight of WowPresents’s crew approaching him. _That’d be it for his break_. “We’re interviewing queens for the promotion videos, and we’ve been asking them about you.”

“That’s why everyone saying ‘Miss Vanjie’? It’s just my fucking name. I ain’t mad, though, I love it.” Ever since he appeared in the convention centre there had been people screaming his iconic quote at him at every turn - the crowd providing better acoustic than freaking Grand Canyon, two words constantly echoing in some part of the room.

“Guilty.” The young man holding the microphone laughed. “Could you tell us more about who Miss Vanjie is?”

“Miss Vanjie is a wild, ghetto bitch from Tampa, Florida. Puerto Rican background. And got eliminated first, and is legendary. That’s what Vanessa Vanjie is. With a lotta’ flowers an’ a lotta’ Barbie. They didn’t like it, though, so it got a boot.” He said it like nobody’s business, all cheeky - the nerve everyone loved brought up for the camera. He had had a hard time dealing with his elimination, felt like a failure, and when the ‘Miss Vanjie’ thing blew up, he first thought he was a joke. But as the love and support around him grew, he came to rebuild his confidence. And with season 11 popping up, he felt just that, legendary. “What did those other hoes say ‘bout me?”

The cameraman exchanged a meaningful look with the interviewer. “Actually, why won’t you ask them yourself?”

They were walking through the convention centre, music blasting and people bustling around them, looking for his sisters that hadn’t been interviewed yet. He kept waving to people and screaming through the megaphone in his hand - the sound guy regretted having given it to him after five minutes - as they were approached by a smiling couple and a little boy wearing a feather boa and looking absolutely dumbstruck. He leaped to greet the boy with a bright smile before his mother finished introducing the boy - Noah - as his ‘biggest fan’.

“Ya wanna be a drag queen, little man?” he asked, and the boy eagerly nodded. Vanjie noticed the ballet shoes on his little feet. “Oh, you a dancer? Show me some moves.”

Noah took a step back and stood on his toes to make a turn, ended with a bit shaky arabesque. Vanessa eagerly started applauding him, motioning for the crew to do the same. Noah looked a bit shy and reached for his mum’s hand before speaking, but he smiled back at Vanjie. “I do ballet.”

“A drag queen ballerina? Ya know, someone’s gotta be first,” he smiled warmly. Kids were his favourite part of DragCons, so passionate and creative, and so, so cute. “Gonna keep my fingers crossed for ya. All of ‘em, just watch it.”

 _Drag queen ballerina_ , he thought to himself as he bid his goodbye and got the last hug. That’d be something to see.

+1.

Back straight. Shoulders back. Head high.

Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. Repeat.

Smooth out the wig. Is that a tangle? No, he brushed it out perfectly, breathe in.

Maybe he messed it up checking? Is there a mirror somewhere? Don’t think, hold it.

Remember your lines. They’re stupid. And boring. He should have thought about something funny. He’s going to make a fool of himself at the very beginning, and now it’s too late to change them, and- Calm down, breathe out.

_It’s going to be fine, it’s all going to be fine. It’s not going to be fine, it’s-_

A man with headphones, whose name he had heard, but forgot immediately, approached him and gave him a last minute warning, bringing him back from the verge of falling into the spiral. Brooke shook his head - it wasn’t the time to get distracted. He stood at the red line painted on the floor and forced his hand to stay still at his side, despite nervous itching to make sure his hat wasn’t tilted.

“And… you’re on. Come on, good luck.” He opened his eyes, losing the image of smiling Farra, but the encouraging words she would always tell him before every pageant still rang in his head as he started walking towards the streams of bright lights slipping through the pink door frame at the end of the corridor. With every step the screams and laughter got louder, but he couldn’t pick up anything because of the erratic beating of his heart. _Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out._ He was almost there, red sequins on his costume glimmering like perfectly cut rubies in the first bits of light already reaching him - making him feel regal, confident, right. Ducking his head a little - just in case - the Northern queen put on his well-practiced smile.

“Is she international?” A loud voice cut through his adrenaline-induced haze, and Brooke automatically turned his head to the left, looking for its source, taken aback for a second upon catching the sight of a smile he knew as good as his own. Without thinking, he rushed to Nina’s side, matching her grin, and fell into familiar embrace. _It can’t be that bad with her here,_ he thought to himself, eyes roaming over heavily painted faces surrounding him, taking in curiosity, furrowed brows, amusement, and- _oh_.

At the end of the table he saw a short man covered in glitter, though he guessed his skin would have a golden glow even without it. He was clad in red - the shade loud and summoning attention, suiting him perfectly - tight dress hiding toned muscles that had had his gaze lingering a tad too long on Instagram. Full lips curled into the brightest smile he’d seen, showing rows of blindingly white teeth, lighting up the pretty features Brooke knew for a fact weren’t painted on, and bringing a glint to his eyes, which managed to seem playful even behind blue lenses as he returned the Canadian’s ogling with equal interest.

There wasn’t a flutter in his heart, a pang in his chest, or a rush of warmth in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t feel like coming home, like two pieces of puzzle fitting together, or like never having to wonder if he’s enough.

Not yet.

But there was a spark, electrifying the air between them more and more with every quick glance across the room and quirk of lips sealed with a shared secret none of them fully knew, but guarded regardless. And it felt like a promise, like a long time coming change they didn’t realize they had been waiting for until then.

  
In fairy tales, if two people are meant to be together, their paths will cross eventually. That’s how fate works. But life is not a fairy tale. 

Except sometimes, sometimes it is.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're a ship passing in the night and are looking for a lighthouse, stop by my tumblr @freykitten. We'll figure something out.


End file.
